


Without the Ability to Love

by Ellieheim



Category: Withnail & I (1986)
Genre: Asexual Character, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28897500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellieheim/pseuds/Ellieheim
Summary: Egocentric and sad thoughts of Withnail when his friend leaves.
Relationships: Peter Marwood/Withnail
Kudos: 3





	Without the Ability to Love

He would probably hit him for leaving. But to be honest, he was so drunk that it might not turn out as well as he expected.

Maybe he would just stare at him, contempt burning inside him, like alcohol to his liver. Maybe he would say something to make him feel bad, because of course, his friend would never come back for him. If he came back it was because everything had gone like shit, and he came back, tail between his legs with nowhere else to go.

Maybe if he put the drink aside, Withnail might hit him. Yeah, hit him hard, punch him in the face. Break those glasses the bastard always wore.

But the bastard wasn't coming back. Why would he come back? Even if he was like a thousand hells, he wouldn't come back. And Withnail wasn't going to let him settle in again. No, no. He didn't need his friend. What did he need it for? _I'm going to get out of this fucking hole alone, I'm going to succeed in life, more than him. I'm going to do it, I'm going to show the bastard that I don't need him. Who the fuck needs a best friend? A roommate? Who needed a damn partner? And no, it's not that I saw him as a couple. Only I didn't need any of that. Never._

_That didn't go with me._

Fucking shit.

Another bottle, a fall to the ground. Fuck, why the fuck was the bottle so far from the couch? How the fuck was this possible? _Fuck, fuck. What was wrong with me?_

No couples. Never.

 _And what? What the fuck was I interested in dating?_ Having to put up with shitty dates, shitty flowers, all that ridiculous shit that people considered normal? Those damn butterflies in his stomach that he had never felt. –And he would never feel them.- Sheer idiots of the people. Alcohol makes you feel more than all that shit. Pffff, a couple, why then would he have one? To fuck? The sex wasn't even that good. Well, the pleasure was good. But nothing else. Withnail could understand that people wanted with him, clearly, why not? But him with someone else? There was simply no one within reach of him. He had never wanted a person that way. And what? As if he was missing something. The few times he had fucked he hadn't reached the stars or a thousand shits like that. He just felt good, just as good as when he pleasured himself. And why go out with someone else if he could satisfy himself without help from anyone? Fucking women was not a big deal, he had never liked one so much that he wanted to take her to bed, and he knew that the solution would not be to sleep with a man either. Men seemed as boring as women. And hell, Withnail had thought this a million times before. He was quite clear on it. The only way he wanted to fuck was because of a fever, and since he always had to suck off all that shit from dinners or previous flirtations, it wasn't worth it. He was too lazy for all that fucking shit.

But it wasn't that he was a cold person, or had no feelings, or all that melodramatic crap. He liked the company, he liked having someone there, to get drunk together, or to talk shit, whatever, criticize the government, the country, a shitty director or producer. Someone there to run together when some expensive whiskey was stolen from the supermarket, someone to laugh at his everyday problems, to fight over absurd things, to insult him from time to time, to annoy him. Someone to be there for Withnail and Withnail for him.

_A best friend, I guess._

A Marwood.

But he was gone.

It wasn't that he liked him, or that he needed him. But to be honest, he wouldn't have another relationship like that. The fucking had left him, he was gone, he had left him knowing that Withnail would sink even further alone in misery. And he would never have anyone like him again.

And Withnail would never have anyone like him again. All his previous friends didn't last at all, they left him, just excuses. The worst were the ones who threw you out for women. Or men, he did not discriminate. Typical people who put romantic sexual relationships before friendships. They put them before him!

He was taking a backseat, and that was so absurd, and boring. It was fucking frustrating. Withnail preferred to be alone, to someone not having time for him or worse, spending time talking about that oxygenated brunette and her tits. Boring were conversations with normal men. He was laughing a little, but at the fifth mention he already wanted to blow his brains out with a gun. He wanted to be the center of attention, to be talked about, to be flattered. Or at least that they took it as the great thing to be friends with him, because Withnial was the great thing. Going into the background sucked. But with Marwood things hadn't been like that. He was as absurd a jerk as Withnail, unable to flirt because of his absurd anxiety. The perfect friend, who never stood out and who would never leave him alone. His perfect friend. That he was no longer a friend.

A thunderous sound rang out from the kitchen. Lots of dirty dishes and grimy pots fell to the ground. Damn rats! Marwood had left him alone with the damned rats. Rats and him. Nothing else was left alive in that filthy filthy fucking shit department. The fucking rats and him. It sounded almost like the name of a great tragedy, if you had bad taste. But wasn't his life a bloody tragedy? Handsome, talented, with all the signs that he was going to succeed in life, finished, shattered. Sinking into shit, born without the ability to fall in love, and now left by the only person he had left. Yes, it sounded like rubbish, but it was the truth. Shattered. Who was he going to bother now? Who was going to take him to bed when he was so drunk that he couldn't walk alone? Nobody. Maybe the damn rats. Yes probably.


End file.
